Chapter Thirteen

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"One more glass, dear! You can't let me drink alone," Mallory persuaded, batting her eyes at me.

I nodded in defeat, knowing I shouldn't have a fourth glass of wine if I was driving home, but also knowing I couldn't really say 'no' to Mallory. Not that I wanted to decline the offer anyways; I much enjoyed the older woman's company. She grew on me; like a healthy fungi in nature.

No, she wasn't really a form of fungus, but I couldn't think of anything else that's relatively healthy that just grows on you.

Pouring myself a glass, much to Mallory's appreciation, I received her offer to touch glasses: the rims clinging and creating a sharp, piercing sound, amplified in my ears caused by the three glasses of wine currently intermingling with the blood in my bloodstream. I took a sip gingerly, watching intently as the older woman stared at me through thick, liquor-heavy lashes. Her pupils were slightly dilated, but she didn't slur over her words. A soft blush crept over the brunette's cheeks. Mallory didn't really look like she had been drinking.

God, she looks beautiful.

"Where's your husband?" I questioned, trying to shift the temptation lingering in the air between us.

"Ted left early." Mallory raised her brow at me. "He said he wanted to start campaigning as soon as possible."

"When do we leave?"

"We are to travel Wednesday morning."

"How many days will we be there?"

"One week."

"Oh."

Silence overcame us. I took a sip of wine, stretching it out as long as possible. The air around us became awkward, and nervousness itched at my bones. I wasn't sure what to say next, but, I didn't need to worry about that; Mallory did it for me.

"Miss Holland," she purred, rounding around the counter and placing her hand on my shoulder.

"Yeah?" I whispered, my breath and voice caught in my throat. Her hand was so warm and comforting, and I swore I could feel her breath dancing against my neck somehow. And her voice, was like velvet. Neither word was slurred, instead it was pronounced smoothly, almost seductively.

Mallory leaned in, her lips close to the shell of my ear. "Shall I call you a cab?" And with that, she pulled away meeting my eyes, a smug smile upon her lips.

I snapped out of whatever trance I was in, downed the rest of my wine in the most un-classiest manner, and put on a mask of indifference, though I was hoping our night would not end. Mallory's company was enjoyable, now, and after getting to know her, I realized we had some things in common, similar passions and desires. She had a sense of humor, and despite her demanding and dominate behavior, she had her moments of relaxation and tranquility. The woman was a complex puzzle that I was putting together one piece at a time.

"Yeah, sure."

"Did you have something else in mind?" Mallory patronized as she walked back to where she was originally, grabbing her purse and pulling out her cellphone.

"Nope."

Leaning forward against the counter, I watched a sculpted eyebrow raise. "Have you yet to learn that I don't tolerate liars?" Her voice was even, level, and utterly terrifying.

Swallowing the suddenly thick air, I moistened my lips with my tongue. "I was hoping- I just didn't want tonight to end."

My words trailed off, getting softer and more slurred as the sentence flowed from my mouth. My cheeks burned and it was beginning to warm in the home, to the point where I could have started sweating.

The older woman looked at me intrigued. She rounded the table again, inching her mouth to my ear. Mallory's hand found its way to my back, her fingertips crawling their way up to my shoulder. I could feel her breath lightly against the shell of my ear, sending chills down my spine and creating gooseflesh over my arms and legs.

"What do you want?"

I stammered, "I don't know."

"I think you do know," Mallory purred, "Tell me what you want, Esme, and this time, don't lie to me."

I thought about beating around the bush, awkwardness taking over as I thought of ways to avoid telling Mallory what I really wanted. Would I sound like a pedophile if I said it? Or a nymphomaniac? Would Mallory laugh at me? She had been drinking, but she still was coherent and, I hoped, was capable of conscious thought, and that Mallory; conscious, overthinking, high-and-mighty Mallory, would think that me voicing this is hilarious.

Sucking in breath, I fumbled but eventually spat it out. "I want you to take me to bed."

That was the best way I could put it without my cheeks burning fifty shades of pink. (They only turned ten shades, by the way).

Looking at Mallory with curiosity burning in my whole body, a wide grin dressed her flushed, pink face. She outstretched her hand to me, tilting her head slightly in a silent gesture for me to clasp my hand with hers. Doing so instinctively, I slid off the stool and followed behind the brunette woman as she lead me into, what I guessed was, the heart of her home: her bedroom.

Mal opened the wooden door before us, a beautiful room unveiled before my eyes. Dark drapes, wine colored comforter, plush, white pillows, dark wooden cabinets, and a full-length mirror. The room practically screamed extravagance and class, and I marveled at it.

"Is this your room?"

The question fell from my lips, mostly out of curiosity, but a slight ounce of jealousy slipped into the words, wondering how this woman managed to marry well (if she hadn't already been born with money), and could just afford to surround herself with lavish things when everyone I knew worked their tails off and barely made it by. Life truly was unfair.

"Oh, heavens no." Mallory chuckled, dropping my hand and waving the question off with her own. "It's a guest room: extended family and whatnot."

Feigning interest in the dark colored wood belonging to the dresser, I nodded my head, giving a long hum in response to the older woman. I dragged my finger across the ornate details carved beautifully into the drawers surrounding the metal drawer-pulls attached to each.

It wasn't long before Mallory began growing impatient, as I noticed her foot tapping slightly and her lips curving into an unimpressed frown. I waited for her to say something: anything to get my attention-- anything to show she wanted this as much as I did (as if her bringing me up here was no indication).

In all honestly, it was, but my brain didn't see it that way. I imagined it as just a way that Mallory would use to make sure I didn't get too rambunctious; a way to keep me respectful and "in line". A perfect, little "pet". But it was, wasn't it? With this, she could control me even further; delaying (and ultimately denying) any self-pleasure, orgasms, et cetera. Giving Mallory my "V-card" (even though I wasn't a virgin, but I kind of was with Mallory since I've never really slept with her, and this would be the first time she's explored my garden) was basically giving her control over me.

Wait. Signing the contract already gave her control. This just gives her free reign over my vagina. Mallory could be a tyrannical leader; the Vagina Nazi.

Shit. Was that offensive?

I'm probably an insensitive ass.

I did Nazi that coming.

Holy hell, I'm fucking ridiculous.

This is out of Mein Kamf-ort zone.

Wow. I didn't think I could get any worse. Send me to hell.

Shaking away my drunken thoughts, I turned to directly face Mallory, watching the way her lips turned into a smirk at the sight of me. I made my way over to her slowly, taking one cautionary step after another. I moved like I would approaching a wild beast, untamed and ravenous; walking on the balls of my feet. She looked confident, almost smug, as I came closer.

Once I was within arm reach, Mallory grabbed my wrist and pulled me towards her. Her chest crashed against my own, stealing my breath from my lungs. Lips pressed against mine almost immediately following, hands now roaming all over my shoulder blades, back, and hips. Mallory held me like she was afraid to let go, desperately clinging onto me. I eventually melted into the kiss, placing my hands on the older woman's hips. They were smacked away quickly, and I was pushed back, stumbling over my feet for a second before regaining my footing.

"You," Mallory hissed, stalking back to me, "do not get to touch without permission, is that understood?"

"Yes, Miss," I panted.

Mallory grabbed ahold of my hand and lead me to the bed before pushing me back onto it. The fluffy comforter and pillows engulfed me, and for a second, I enjoyed the feeling of bouncing on the bed, at least until I noticed Mallory stripping from her clothes: painfully slow at removing each article of clothing until she was as bare as a beast.

Woah.

She began crawling into the bed and up my legs, all taut skin, bare breasts, and exposed lower area. With each movement Mallory made, the bed shifted a bit more, causing my body to sway with the woman's motions.

When she reached my chest, her hands roughly gripped my breasts, massaging the clothed flesh with a fierce tenderness. I threw my head back, eyes shut, taking in a shallow breath as electricity traveled straight to my vagina.

"Look at me."

Opening my eyes, I bit my lip as Mallory moved on top of me, shifting her weight and straddling my stomach, her cunt pressed onto me. She brought her hands away from me and to her own abdomen, running them up and down until they stopped at her breasts, tweaking and teasing each nipple before pinching the areola. Her head dropped back slightly, performing her pleasure like she was an actress on Broadway, and God, was I getting wet.

Allowing her hand to fall lower, she traced small patterns along the skin above her vagina, purposely, making sure my attention stayed where she wanted it to be. "I think I want you undressed, Miss Holland."

She elegantly rolled off of me, sitting with folded legs. "Now."

I sat up and slid off the bed. My limbs felt like jello, and I shook them out slightly, trying to restore blood flow.

Mallory hummed. I glanced up at her, and she tilted her head up, an indication that I needed to ándale before she got impatient and I got a punishment, I presumed.

Taking the hem of my shirt, I pulled it over my head, letting it drop to the ground. Realizing my mistake, I picked it back up and folded it, hoping to avoid a lecture or beating from Mallory.

I laid my bra over-top of my shirt, making sure not to fold the cups over each other, because that damaged bras and bras are expensive and I am a poor college student. Speaking of which, I needed to buy a couple more when they went on sale: the current state my cups were in was depressing. The thin padding that covered my nipples was thinning to the point where if a wind blew, the peak of my nipples would be obvious to a human half a mile away. Straps that once held up my Bs, were allowing the small mounds of flesh to begin sagging, opposite of my desire for perky breasts. Said straps were also beginning to fray. It was all quite pathetic, but, what can I say? Bras are expensive necessities for the female gender, at least in my case.

I pulled my underwear down with my jeans, shimmying out of the snug fabric as best I could. Leaving my underwear inside of my pants, I folded them as neatly as possible, matching seam with seam and button with fabric slit. Honestly, I was a freak when it came to folding my jeans. They had to be a certain way, or else I would refold them until complete satisfaction.

God, I sounded like Mallory: a perfectionist.

Standing in the cool bedroom, I looked at the brunette as she stared, almost approvingly, at my nakedness. It felt awkward, being looked at like I was a piece of artwork in a gallery, but the evident desire in Mallory's beautiful eyes was enough for me to ignore the weirdness.

Beautiful? When did I ever refer to anything of Mal's as beautiful?

Wait, I spoke internally, Mallory is a beautiful woman, that's not deniable, so what's so wrong about me simply stating and appreciating that fact?

Nothing.

"Hmm," she hummed, still eyeing me like a predator. "Come over here."

When I got to her, Mallory opened her legs, beckoning me to stand between them. Doing as I was motioned to, I stood, almost stock still, with my hands on my thighs as Mallory ran her fingertips lightly over my abdomen, forearms, and anywhere else she could reach from her position. I tried not to look too much at her as she did what she wanted, but I couldn't help but practically stare at her; Mallory was beautiful.

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, my mind chanted. God I'm such an idiot.

"Get on the bed, on your back."

The command was quick, snapping me away from the beginning of one of my famous internal monologues, but again, my silent obedience continued, and I felt like a trained poodle. But, I wasn't being punished. So that was a plus.

Plush fabric pressed against my bare back, providing a cool sensation to travel through my body, and I smiled in satisfaction, but that was quickly shot away as Mallory joined me, crawling on top of my body. I could feel her skin brush against my own, creating lines and lines of gooseflesh on my thighs, stomach, and arms. She sat in the same place she had before I removed my clothes, and followed the same pattern of touching my breasts as she had her own.

I tossed my head to the side, held my hands together above my head, and arched up my chest, practically begging for more contact as heat started to flood between my legs. "Mal-" I started in a low voice, then caught myself, "Miss."

Mallory hummed, which I took as permission to speak.

"Please," instinctively came out of my lips when I looked up at the woman. Her hair was now falling down, framing her face, and I wondered when she had taken it down, but decided against asking as desperation seemed to cloud ever rational I should have had.

She didn't answer me. Instead, the older woman leaned down, bringing her face and lips ever so close to my own, and flicked her tongue out, grazing it against my top lip. The same tongue continued to dance over my skin, tracing over my neck and up my jawline before flicking against my ear lobe. The strange sensation was just that, but, seemed to bring pleasure as I pushed up my hips, anxiously seeking any form of contact to ease the aching between my legs.

This was all new, all uncharted territory, as Kalob was always impatient when it came to sex. He was straight to the point, and almost followed the same pattern; my breasts, my cunt, an orgasm for myself, me (as crude as it was) giving him a blow-job, and ending with him and I orgasming. It was familiar and simple, and always had a pleasing result, but this, this was difficult. I never had to feel yearning, hardly experienced a throbbing desire between my legs, and never begged for my deserved orgasm. Mallory was almost treating this like a game, and I wasn't very thrilled to play cat and mouse with her.

I gasped suddenly when Mallory gripped my earlobe between her lips, applying gentle, pulsating motions to the skin. The gasp turned into a groan as she changed to a more forceful approach; pulling and scraping with her teeth.

"Fuck!"

A hand grasped my throat, not applying pressure, but making sure its presence was known. "Have I given you permission to speak?"

Afraid to speak again, I shook my head, staring up at the ceiling. I didn't want to look at Mallory; I wasn't sure if she was truly upset, or if the rigid, husky tone in her voice was simply an intimidation tactic. Either made sense, well, not entirely if she was upset because that was something so trivial to allow to upset you, but that's none of my business.

"That's what I thought."

Mallory continued her venture, lips and tongue slowly trailing down my neck and to my chest, stopping only to nip at the flesh on the side of my breast before traveling lower. I groaned, but was surprised with the slight pleasure it had brought. My eyes closed, and my body almost honed on every little sensation, from the brunette's tiny exhales on my skin, to the way her hair seemed to, just barely, drag against me. Mix that with gentle kisses and unexpected nips of teeth, and I was in sensory heaven. It was erotic, and sexy, and made me hypersensitive to every feeling.

"Miss?" I murmured again, pressure continuing to build in the area right above my pussy. It almost felt like an orgasm, but my obvious knowledge of sex proved that it wasn't; Mallory hadn't even touched me yet.

Everything stopped quickly, and I glanced down at Mallory, curiosity burning in her eyes as she hovered over my stomach, mere inches away from uncharted territory.

"Yes, Esme?"

My name rolled off her tongue, and her lips sensual when she pronounced the second syllable. God, she's the most sexualized woman I've met or known.

"I-I really," I exhaled, "really need t-to orgasm." Looking into Mallory's eyes, I tried to plead as best I could, tried to convince her that this was a necessity and not simply a request.

A melodious burst of laughter erupted from the woman, her head tilting back, and hair brushing against my sensitive skin, causing me to shiver. "Oh, isn't that delicious," Mallory spoke, seduction dripping off every word. "And what will you do for me if I let you come?"

"I'll eat you out."

It was an instinctive response, plus I had already done it: a few times now, actually, and she seemed more and more pleased after each time. And it was kind of empowering to watch the poised, composed, control-freak of a woman come undone, quiet literally.

"That's child's play," she chided, clicking her tongue. "I suggest you get creative, Miss Holland."

What could I do or say to get Mallory to let me come? What could I even offer her?

While I continued to think, Mallory seemed to do her own thing, tracing the pads of her fingertips over my inner thighs, traveling up to my cunt, and then back down, never quiet touching the overly responsive flesh.

"Tick, tock, my darling."

God, what could I--

"What if I let you do something to me that was on the list?"

That apparently caught Mallory's attention, as her fingers stopped and her eyes snapped back up, pupils increasing in size. "And what, per say, would you let me do?"

Yet again, the woman stumped me. I hardly remembered what I was curious about on the list, but I knew what I didn't like. No age stuff. Or animals. No feet, butts, or collars. What else?

"Bondage?"

"And you're sure?"

"Yes?"

Mallory glared at me with amusement. "Is that a question, or an answer?"

"Yes." I shook my head. "I mean, it's an answer."

An eyebrow arched at me. "It's an answer, who?"

"It's an answer, Miss."

That was annoying as fuck. What was the purpose of me saying miss? She's the only other person here, and I'm obviously talking to her, so what was the point of me "addressing" her "properly"?

"To be honest with you," Mallory spoke, maintaining eye contact with me as her fingers danced their way to my cunt, glinting over hairless skin. I inhaled harshly, her fingers finally passing over my heated slit. "I thought you were going to give me some juvenile answer."

She continued to touch me, pressing fingertips against my

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